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Exeter Advocate, 1904-7-7, Page 2.40.54 f•!,,frf'fffflf**0.1.4.1f0f4,4 'ff*, If „:1-T1741,1.4444.5=taaffrIPT11171WATTLEIMT444:1,44174.401,4,114.41444TirawyaLarWriajCV11111.: ,. 0 P c .. 1 1 ricc i _ OR, THE RESULT OF A FANCY DRES.5 BALL i t. I if, ff ft Iff ff a i • f MI irglTari ii o railWrIateallaratiiRs 7111174111,1,TONTlilirli IITICAZIfteir,rati eyr.al CHAPTER XIV. Luncheon is 01101'; it had proved in the beginning rather a trial to Diana who could net forget that other luncheon; hi which Hilary had 'PloY- ed such a leading peat, But Clif- ford had said something about it, to which Ker had responded with an utterly unembarassed air, and then they had all laughed. So it had ended. Aftor luncheon Ker had asked Hil- ary to show him the pretty garden outside, a glimpse of which could be caught from the diningeromni win- dows, and she 'lad put on a big straw hat, picturesque. to the last (le- vee, and brought him outa-liere. "After all," says Ker, "I suppose we had better talk about it." • They are sitting in the little ar- bar by this time (all overgrown. by trailing roses), and a slight palls° had come in the rather hurried con- versation that up to Ude has been carried on between them. "About—" Her tone is a little fnint. Her pretence at. ignorance poor indeed. "1 kuow it is hard for you," says he hurriedly, "but it has to be done, you see, and—you must only tr3r ard forgive me. Of course, you have only to say one word, and I'm off to India again to-naorrow, and that blessed R•18,000 a year may go any- where you like for all I Care. If only your refusal of nie would give it to you, I should feel contented. But as it is—P. "Or," says she slowly, looking on the peened, "if your refusal to mar- ry me—" "Well, I haven't refused," says he, tracing a pattern in the gra.vel with his stick. "Well, neither have I," says she with a queer little laugh. "Now, what do you mean by that?" He get e up and stands look- ing at her. "Oh, I don't know what I mean. Don't stand there staring at me." She too gets up, and, turning from him; begins to pidl a few buds from a long-suffering rose -tree near. • “Was ev placed in so horrid a :s she at last, in a very • t ene. ''Never, I think! And , es it worse for me is, tha 1. as if I was in fatal t." "No, no; yo dIstn't think that. Surely neither fa us is in fault." "Of course," piffling off another in- offensive bud, "I could say that 'oho word' you spoke of a moment ago, emt," she now turns and looks fairly 'et him, "it seems such a great deal. %et* money to throw away." "It does of course." "To absolutely sacrifice it as Dia- na says,:"—hesitatingly. "Still, I can't, bear the idea of your marrying me only because I ani worth—so fetich." "That applies equally to both of us," returns he gravely. "Yes, I know; yes, of course," hur- riedly. "But it is always worse for --the woman, I think." • "I don't see that; I don't indeed. Yeti put it rather unfairly." "To marry, just for position?" "Yea. I know, it sounds beastly, but—" "But what?" She has gone back to her destruction of the inuocent latds by this time. - "Look here," says he earnestly, I found, on meeting you, that I —well, hated you for example, I -wouldn't marry you if I were to lose ten Ones the money by my refusal. But I can't help thinking that as we are both free—By-the-bye," break- ing off, "you are free?" • "Oh, yea; as Or," breaking into a t f le shy laugh. "Well, then," says lie, with an evi- dent sigh of relief, "there is not so much to fear." She glances at hien. "For you," says she. "But," she leans toward him. "But how for me? Have you," her dark, blue - eyes 8earch his anxiously, "never been in love?" "In love?" He colors slightly. "Not in love; I may have feuded people." "Paneled them?" She looks uncer- tain, • "Well, yes, liked them—in a "Once?" This is too much for Ker. Ho "Oli, half -a -dozen times," says ho. "That's better," says Hiiary grav- ely, unmoved outwardly by his Mirth, it secretly a little anneyed by it; "I prefer that." "On •the idea. that there's safety in a multitude." He is still smil- ing." a little coldly. • "But any- way you have get the best of this bargain, as I have novel' been in love rtt all!" "Well, but neither have I," says he, "You remember I told you that'." • "Still you have 'fancied' people. I," slowly, "have never fancied any - boder!" Ker takes a step towards her, and lifting one of her hands, raises it lightly to his lime. "Then, perhaps there is a chance for me?" says he, not ungracefully. "Will you give me my chalice?" Hilary ta,kes her hand out of his. "The whole thing is so absurd," says she ruefully, "I want to marry you, and you want to marry me, just because we shall be rich people St we do, and poor people if we don't. But once married, if we found we did not like each other— how would it be, then?". "It is a risk certainly'," gays Iter, very gravely. He pauses; then. he looks at her. "I am content to ac- cept it," says he. Hilary flushes faintly. Her eyes are downcast,: her lovely face is look- ing a little sad, a little thoughtful. All at once Ker knows that to him, at all events, it is the one beautiful fare in the world. In an impulsive ft -Alien he takes her hand again, now holding it close - "Will you risk it?" gists he. It is a proposal. He feels her hand tremble within his. Will she? Will she? She raises her eyes to his. . "There would be some time before —before--" "Some little time—a month. You know the will is very stern." "Well—yes," says she witha sigh. The sigh is hardly complimentary, yet Ker accepts it, with an excellent grace. "You are too good," says he with quiet earnestness. She breaks away from him impa- tiently. "I am not. And I hate myself. To consent to marry a, perfect stran- ger, one of whom I know nothing?" "You know, at all events, that I like beer." "Oh, you are too bad," she frowns but after a, struggle with herself, she breaks into merry if -unwilling laughter. "There, go away," says she petulantly. "I want, to be alone." "I may come to -morrow, how- ever?" "Ye—s. Yes, of course. To lun- cheon?" "I'm afraid not so early as that. Mrs. Dyson-liloore has something en for to -morrow; I forget what.Some Peonle to luncheon, anyway; but if I may come at three?" "You may." Her tone is a little low. Some- how, she had not liked hisoefusal to lunch with her. However little she may be to him, she certainly ought to be more than Mrs. Dyson -Moore. "That is Settled then," says Ker. "aood-by," says "Good -by." He takes her proffer- ed hand and holds it. "This is mine?" questions he, tightening his fingers over it. Illiary makes -a little affirmative gesture. A most urisatisfactory one. "You will be my wife'?" asks Ker, more decisively this time. Be had disliked that silent assent. "I will." Her answer now is ais- to ed Was a Great Sufferer and Airnost in Des- pair—New Hope and Strength Came With the Use of DR. CHASE'S NERVE FOOD Thie great food cure is doing Won- klers for Weak, worn-out and discour- aged women. Many inedieleee which are prescrib- ed in Zech cases are merely lante which give temporary relic! and aretse false hope. Because Dr. Chase's Nerve Food actually forms now, rich blood and increases the vitality of the body, its benefits are thorough and lasting and Re eines. permanent, Mrs.. 'AL A. Clock, Meaford, Ont,, rites—"Three years ago I became yery much run down in health end :Offered from weak, tired feelings, indigestion and rime mati sea. At, timer; I 'vas 80 badly used up that • 1 required help to move in bed. While lee, and doWelicarted 1 receiVed Dr. Chase's Almanac and sent for some of Dr. Chase's Nerve Food. "Under this treatment 1 soon be- gan to improVe, and by the time had used eleven boxes of Dr. Chase's Nerve Food :r was happy to find my- self strong and well agele. 1often think of what a lot of money I spent for medicines which did me /10 good, and believe I owe my life to Dr. Chase e Nerve, Food, I hope women who suffer as I did will benefit by any experience and use Dr. Chase's Nerve Pood." Dr. Chases Nerve Feed, 50 cent:: o box, :it all dealers, or Edmanson, elates eo in pa aer, Tor on to To protect you agninet ineite thins. the portrait: arid signatere of Dr, A. W. Chase, the famou$ reeeipt book au- thor, are on every bog tinet ?aough, anywity„ if ideally cold, ger, after 4 second's eXtelnination ,cot her face, stoops and: prelseee his lips to her cheek, It is the earnest: kiss on record, yet he hoe the sale- faet,ion of seeing that it touches her, She wawa, indeed, crimson, She draws back from him, it is tree, with a little offended gesture, but in doing SQ she lets hiln ac her eye. They, are full of tears, and, a little quick eurpriso and . inclignation, and new sweet euspicion of shaino, but nothing a all of horror, or shrink - tag, or dislike. - He leaves her, well satieted, Ile goes With a light and cheerful Step up the road. Ho* beautiful she is; how full of strong, young life. No fool! He could not hale endur- ed a silly fool, however pretty. For the first time in his life he knows himself to be honestly in love', And she—she will come • to love him in time, He will be se good to her. His life shall be hers. By -the -bye, why can't he get out of this luncheon at the Dyson -Moores' to -morrow? If he started by the morning • train he could get to Cork by 11,80., and could there buy her a ring—all girls like a ring, and he would like to give her somethings Of. course, that would prevent his being with her et three o'clock as he had arranged. He could not possibly. be there be- fore four, but lie could explain to herS.and of all girls he has ever met, she seems the most reasonable as. well as the most beautiful, and the Most—etc., etc. • CHAPTER XV„. Half through the night Hilary lies awake, thinking—thinking always of this new momentous step she is about to take. Asking herself shall she• take it? Is it advisable ? Is it too late to withdraw? Does she like him? Like him, that ise well enough to marry him? That is the question. Of course, love is out of the ques- tion. Here her thoughts wander a little —wander afield indeed, and lose themselves in a recollection of his eyes—so dark and earnest; his mouth —so firm, so kind, his hair—how well it sits upon his head, and what a goodly head it has to sit upon! She recovers herself here, with an angry start, and comes back to her question. The bare liking sho has for Fre—Mr. Ker—it must be, the very barest liking, considering how little she has seen .of him—would that be strong enough le enable ber to live out her whole life with him? Would it entitle her to accept him? He must be considered as well as she. And would it be justice to him or to herself to thus embark on a voy- age that would last all time—all time for theni certainly—without some sure thing to go upon? It is a most vexed question. And there are so foil dap! given inwhich to think of it. That miserable will has rushed them into a corner. Only a month ie which to decide -the woe or the welfare of two lives? Does she like him well enough?. As usual, the first thought comes back again And he—does he like her? He had hesitated about coming early 4.0-MOr- Mat. When' she wakes, tomorrow is here, christened by another name. A. very lovely to -morrow too. All blue sky, and tender warmth, mellowed by the singing of innumerable birds. Three o'clock has come and -gone. The clock now strikes four. Hilary, who had put on her prettiest frocle an hour ago, for evidently no pur- pose whatever, is now feeling a lit- tle angry. 'A little, .to the outsiderS. Inwardly she is raging. Presently she conies down ready dressed for a walk. • "You are going, out, Hillary?" says Diana, in &snarly. "But—Fred.eric?" "Well, what of him?" says the girl, turning upon her sharply. "After all, Di, I feel I have laid myself open to this sort of thing. So put an end to it, once arid for all. Please tell dim I would not marry Mr. Ker, if he were to go on hie knees to. e." "Is this :quite wise?" falters Diana. "Oh! wise! He is wise if you like." "You mean, darling—" "That he detests mei" "Hilary!" But Hilary is, gone. Up—up the hill she runs, delight- ing in the energy that eases her of hall the angry pain that is desolat- ing her heart. In this fresh place, the air is full of twittering of birds— of new -blown breezes. She is feeling S o low down in the world—so deject- ed—that this evidence of joy and hope in Nature comes to her as a tonic. She is not in touch with Na- ture at this moment, it is true, and yet the sweetness of it restores her in a measure to her usual state of: Mind. She had reached an outstanding bowlder on the' hill, and resting there for a moment, looks first to the lovely sky, and then behind her. Behind her is Irer—advancing to- ward her with rapid strides. "I'm afraid," exclaims he, as he comes up with her, "I'm awfully late. "So''—breathlessly—"sorry.' "I'm sorry to see you so dread- fully out of breath," says Hilary COCrLeOflely—iCily. "It Teeny Would not have mattered," with a distinct- ly hostile smile, "if you had not come---." She hesitate—he would have given anything to say" at all," but the rudeness is too mach for her —'`until a little later." • Ker stares at her. "I tried my best," says he—the first warm tteendlinees of his tone gone—'a friendliness so near to love is s'o'inetinree so hard to got away." Her lip curls involuntarily,' "elometirees! Especially • Ple has been about to anathematize the train, which heel been fifteen inutes / at e . but be in t errupte him "f quite understand. You really most not apologiee to me. There is 110 reasoe why you ehould.'' ' Cer to inly there in a ren son ," eays he, eel Le ciajat de.teriflinntion, "f told y.011 S11001C1 be, with you by threr, Alld 1 t i8 now refiMiderul.;ly haer thae ihet. I owe, e ou an n pologge-so :1X )0). 2;ou off,'" ee tu rite she, - Lt. -1 calmly. "A guest is fatten tied inore or less." "Mrs. Dyson-lVfoore, iioWever, was not the came) et eay being late," "No?" The 'disbelief conveyed in this word 'is very faint and hardly reaches Ker, who has ..gorie on on another solution/ of this mystery. • Goo:cl Heavens! Fancy her being so eiled over a mere trifle like • this. lhvor euppoeing he had beer), late, without going to Cork at all, need elle have taken it like this? A fel-- loW has lots a things to keep him •sornetirnes. Only yesterday be had told himself eho was the most reas- onable girl in the world, and now— . They aro coining down' the hill again, and ho finds after getting out of his disagreeable revery that she is saying something. "Of course Mrs. Dyson -Moore would not be the cause of anything d is agreeable. She is altogether charm - hag, I've—beea told." The meaning in the emphasis is cle"Isar, she?" says ICer abruptly'. "You should hardly be the one to tisk that question. You are in a position to know—you, who are stay- ing with her—whether she comes un der that name or not." * "Pon myW01-1 I haven't thought about it,", says Kai. impatiently. Hilary throws up her head. Con- tempt takes possession of her. Was ever prevarication clearer? She is preparing another topic of conversa- tion—the ail -absorbing Home Rulo. bille of choice—that will iesce her as Far as the hall -door (still a good half -mile away), whore she hopes the good oak door will close against him, and bar him out of her life fere ever, when saddeoly he takes theini- titAVilei1t'S the matter with you?" asks he. The queetiou is so blunt, so unex- pected, that it leaves her without speech for a moment, but with a considerably heightened color. "With me?" "What's the good of fencing?" says he. "I can see how changed you are since—since last we met." His pause has somehow brought back to her the garden—his words—the pres- sure of his lips against her cheek. Her lovely, color dies and she grows very pale! Oh! what a fool she had been! "I am changed," says she in a low, but clear voice. "I—have been thiaking. You"—with a swift glance at him—"have given nie time to think." "If you mean that because I was a, little late to -day--" "Well, you were a little late!" She has stopped. She is tracing something on the ground at her feet. "The fact is, I have come to the conclusion that we have made a mis- take." 0, I "Well, then, 1 if you will have it so. I am willing to bear all the blame." 'You prefer some one else?" "No," with a frown, "there is nothing of that in it. But the mis- take is there all the same." "I wish you would place it." Sho hesitates for a moment, and then, as thougli compelling herself, goes on: "I think you wish' to marry me, only • because you bannot get this Inoney unlese you do." There is a long silence—then : "Except that I am sure eou could not mean deliberately to hurt any one," says he coldly, "I should take that as a direct insult. I may say, however, that you are making a great mistake. I would not marry you unless I liked you, if you had the mines of Golconda." "You are not, however, prepared to say you love me?" says Hilary, whose face is now quite colorless. "I hardly know how I feel. toward you," says Ker, which at this mom- ent is perhaps as honest a thing as ever he Said in his life. His anger leaves hie judgment blind. "Don't you?" Hilary smiles a ra- ther fugitive senile. "Then I'll tell you. You hate me!" "At this astonishing declaration, Ker, after a moment's angry pause, bursts out laughing. It is a very ironical laugh, and drives Hilary to the very limits of her teinper. "Any one can laugh," says she. "But for all that I tell you the truth. I will ask you one question. Would you choose me as your 'wife, if you suddenly found that I had not a penny in the world?" "Certainly," says Ker. But he is so angry now that his voice denies his assertion. Hilary shrugs her Shoulders. The shrug maddens him. "Well, is that what you didn't want me to say?':„, "I don't know that I wanted you to say anything." ' "Look here," saysKer slowly, calmly, and full of the grand know- ledge that he is now proving him- self a thoroughly equitable creature, who has the power at any moment to put his temper beneath .his feet, even when most incensed. "Let us talk this over calmly." • Hilary, turns upon him. ' "One would think," says -she, her lovely face lighted up by the fire of a most just indignation, ."it, was who was not calm." "Of course, what I desire is that we should both be calm." . It is plain to enrth and sky now that he, at all events, is anything but calm! "What I want," Says Miss Bur- roeghs with dignity, 'is that you should keep your temper!" "I? Keep my temper/ I assure you It was never better under my con- trol than at this present moment." "Then nil T. can say is, I'm sorry foeinoinents!'' This, of coureo, makes an and of rdl , Slowly, in dogged 8iieflCe, theY walk back- to the house. Just be- fore they reach it, Ker addresses her once more—"for the last time" is writ large on every word he utters. "That, is settled then?" 88111.1Itrto egSol;:lck to India next Ive.cgle't:.. areal hardehip, is it? Most nie!l'o (1) s 1k cv t the )est plate aoina, Lots of fun and Wino la THE' PRO1PITABLE4 PORKER. With all his selfishness and inclin- ation to satiate his own appetite and desire, regardless of the welfare of his fellow swine, the hog must be given credit of having held up his end n,obly as a money produeer dur- ing the past decade. Occasionally during that puled, through over- production of hie kind, the market has been glutted and a noticeable slump in prices been the result. But this has been the exception. The farmers's success depends in ft large clegree upon his readiness to realize' and adapt this salable pro- duct to the market demands, What ever his practices have been and no matter how successfully he may have prosecuted them lie cannot .ignore market conditions and 'wisdom coun- sels that it is always profitable to try and suit the product to the de - Maud as our influence upon the de- nuind can count for but little. It is good policy to cater to market de - mend. At present the market demand is for the lighter and mediuxx weight pigs rather than the heavy hogs which in the past have been deemed most profitable, and it is very im- portant that we adopt our practices to conform to these changes It has been the custom for many farmers to winter a large number of swine each year and market them when from twelve to fourteen months old. With the old time demand for heavy hogs and the better prices realized on that class of stock it may have paid, but for the past several years we believe that well bred pigs, farrowed in early spring and pushed from birth by careful and intelligent feeding, would pay better • than if wintered and fed for twice the time. The care- ful feeder can rnake pigs at six months ()Lege weigh from 200 to 250 pounds, and this at less cost than a similar weight can be produced in any other -way. If these weights, or , lighter ones, are to command the I best prices because suited to the de- mands of the market it seems reason- able that the most profitable hand- ling of swine lies in the fattening of pigs. This may necessitate in some instances changes in the method of breeding and feeding. In the selection of the breed one should choose the. one for 'which he may have a fancy, as most farmers have a fancy for some particular breed. We are rather partial to the Poland China for early market pigs. But the breed is largely a matter of choice, and any of the improved breeds should prove very desirable. The sows should be bred to a pure bred boar, and under no circumstanc- es would we advise the use of a grade. Use grade sows if you prefer the same breed as the boar. Crossing breeds and in -breeding to any extent generally prove unsatisfactory. Be careful in selection of boar and sows of the same breed. Their offspring will be uniform in color, which will add greatly to the appearance of the herd when you are ready to market. Keep the sows in good, strong, heal- thy condition. The theory that to secere good breeding results the sow must be a veritable walking skeleton was exploded many moons ago. The practice of breeding from young and immature sows is not to he com- mended. The offspring of full grown dams Will be larger, more vigorous and early maturing. There is also a measure of risk with the young sow. She may not prove prolific or a good suckler and so furnish scanty food for small litters. She may also prove an irregular breeder. When a sow proves all right in these respects and her pigs have the re- quired feeding quality, she should be retained for , breeding purposes as long as her usefulness continues. After the • sow is bred she should have an abundance of muscle prb- clueing food, such as bran, wheat middlings and oats. Sows that are to farrow early should be kept in good condition, but not too fat. Corn should be fed very sparingly; roots, potatoes and apples may be fed to give variety to the winter ration. The sow should have large enough quarters to give her ample room for exercise, which 18 very essential in maintaining a healthy condition. • The breeder should have a record of the time each sow is bred. Many a fine litter has been lost by the owner's neglect in not keeping a record of the farrow- ing period. Give the sow a *warm, dry bed in winter and a cool, quiet, shady place in the summer season. It is very necessary to keep the sow telirlike farrowingfrom getting a too heavy matted nest for cold weather lest she lie upon or smother her pigs. Fine C0112 fodder is the best thing we have ev- er used, as it does not draw mois- ture if the sow can big. 1 have only one thing to re- gret, and that is that, I ever left This is distinctly rude, but lie sticks to it. "It does seem a pity!" says Miss Burroughs calmly. 11 he had hoped to take a rise out of her he has fail- ed signally. She turns to hitri presently. "I should like you, to take •back this," says she, holding out her land twmi)tthrthe florin in it. "It was such a stupid affair all through, was it "More than that?" coldly. Trim i nal ! ' ' with n, rather mock- ing smile, "Well, I don't wish to he (hen.''roshinddcl of it Taking the coin, he flings it into a Wish on his right band. All seems at an end, indeed. `Ingle are within two yards of the hell -door now, and ON iT1niy turns to b itt him an evert ast ing adieu Brid- get riisheS down the steps Mid lip to 1111"Y' (To be Con( iattscl.) ass have the run of a elever field in Pring and euininer it will be • de, cidedly to her advantage. Cared fox lel this way, she will be likely tq OW to her pigs a goodly supply el milk which will concleee to a rapid and vigorous growth. • Any loss 01 growth through negligence nt tide early stage will be diflicult to rot:civet', as the pigs grow older, A stuatect pig is unprofitable and does not grow or fatten rapidly. The pigs soon learn to drink milk and slop from the dam's trough, and as soon, as they aro 15 or 6 weeks olcl should be fed a little sweet milk each day in n' yard where the Sow cannot follow Fed in this way relieves lin sow in a measure aria • the full supply of food causes them to grow rapidly. Farmers are prone to feed too much * corn to the young pig. This is a mistake, as it ma/WS the little fellow fat and hinders the development of bone and musele which le so essen- tial. Corn should be fed in very moderate quantities for the first four months After that it can be safely increased. One of the most desirable foods for growing pigs is wheat nad- idling slop, if fed judiciously. 11: seems to be greatly appreciated by the juvenile porkers and is readily assitnil a ted. Cleanly troughs and yards, regular - iter in feedings and a goodly supply a: of pure water will pay and pay well. e It is a good plan to keep ashes, char- " coal andsalt in the yards constant- ly $o that the pigs may have access at will. Sprinkle the troughs and pees with some purifying element frequently. Carbolic acid is good. A noticeable and satisfactory growth , and freedom from diseases will be the result of these attentions, and the young pigs will express their appreciation by a splendid increase in weight each week. , As a rule if the pigs can be put into condition for the early fall mar - key the result will be eminently sat- isfactory. SILAGE FA -TL TO HORSES. Cow silage, says Joseph E. Wing, the well-known writer on livc: stock topics, is a natural food for railch cows and growing cattle. It is use- ful in the ration of fattening lambs. It may be fed to horses with prob- able advantage, but it must be fed with extreme caution. If feu in regu- lar amounts, not exceeding ten to fifteen pounds per day, many experi- ences have been entirely satisfactory. If fed in unlimited amounts, and es- pecially if the silage has been poorly made Or has undergone some further deterioration, it has proved deadly' in its effects. Last winter in Minne- sota a man came to us at the farm- ers' institute with a sorrowful tale. He had filled his silo with frozen corn and there was mold on the sil- age. He had no hay. His horses had been gorged with silage, having' no other, feed. They ate a bushel or more a day. They gained in flesh for a time. Then they began mysteri- ously to sicken and die. Paralysis of the throat was one symptom. No remedy helped them. All died, 4 think, and he was a poor man, in debt tor his farm. This winter te friend fed silage. What they reject- ed was thrown out in a yard in a - rack. / From this rack cows gleaned. One day eight horses running in a yard ate all they wanted of this half -spoiled silage. Ali died. The symptoms were peculiar, including nervous spasms, and one veterinarian pronounced the disease hydrophobia. It may possibly have been, but I fear the silage alone was responsible. This need not deter any one from building silos. There is abundant use for sil-• age in the dairy barn, the cattle, yard, the sheep pens, even in the swine pens. Let the horses have dry forage or silage in small amounts. To our mind silage is not a proper fobd for horses. With its small sto- mach and the necessity for exerting its strength at frequent intervals,: and sometimes for days at a time, • ' the horse should have more concen- trated feed. For fattening or grow- ing our cattle and sheep, and for dairy cows, in milk, silage is excel- lent. But these animals have large; stomachs, and are accustomed to eat large amounts of green forage and roughage. Oats and corn with bright timothy hay, and a bran mash now and then when required with a little oil meal, will keep the horse in the finest possible condition when at reg- ular work. Leave the silage and roots for other stock, and each will do well. We should expect a case of colic every time a good feed of sil- age was given a horse, aad it could not eat enough of a food with so much waste to sustain its strength. A VISIBLE OBJECT. A testy old gentleman forced to ‘vait an hour at a wayside station was cursink his fate, when a mild-- mannered country man strolled into tile station and essayed conversa- tion. Taking the many labels on the • visitor's bag as a leader, he said :-- "You've travelled about quite a bit?" oyesg, "Ever seen a' Nun?" "Many a one." "Ever, seen a Chinee?" "Thousands of them!". "Ever seen "Ever 8000 a Jew?". "Ever Seen a—?" /no te,$).y old gentlemen could stand it no Imager, ond, rising to his full height, shouted in stentorian totes, "Ificf you ever eee a fool?" 'Frio mild-mannered ono let his keen eye rest on the irate traveller a moment, then in a sweet, low voice replied :— "Yes, I hev." . - plI . Tigrt.1:::;c4vaintPtnelnoltliEl gebita' IT; es and absolute cure for eack and every form of itehinit. bleeding amteretruding the raanufaeetirers have miamnteed it. f..leo tee. Imenials In the daily prots end ask yen!, neillr 'ors What they think or it, You can use It and fetyour money back if not cured. atte a box, Id dealers er En re.,‘ & Co.. Toronto Dr. Chase's Ointment Ir